fray
by Aureillia
Summary: reality and imagination have a fine line between them. - for pokeshipping week/based off of the Ash-Coma-Theory


_**Fray**_

"So, you think you'll be okay?" Brock asked. He'd been briefing me for the last hour, although I tuned out somewhere between reception and their excuse of a cafeteria.

Nodding, I clutched the folder to my chest tightly, scrutinizingly eyeing the area Brock was gesturing towards.

Through the hazy glass, a figure could be made out lying motionless within the bleak sheets of one of the hospital's many beds. From my position, the only feature I could make out was the messy, ebony hair. A monitor was steadily beeping to the side, IV machines hooked up to different points on his body.

Apparently, the boy had been in here for over five years and had yet to wake up. Not an uncommon occurrence for coma patients. It was a rather dreary place, in my opinion, and definitely not somewhere I'd want to spend any more time than necessary. But between my sisters' constant shows to pay the bills and tuition fees, missed classes was a common occurrence. Volunteering for an extracurricular social activity was practically my only option.

The hospital itself was rather large. One of the better facilities in Kanto, I'll admit, but that didn't take away the lingering somber atmosphere that seemed to be ever-present. White-wash walls and pale blues only added to the drab feel, the smell of old people and misery emanating from every nook and cranny. I peered into the room again, noting the lone chair and single bedside table that were the only furniture present aside from the bed.

There were no flowers or cards from family.

According to Brock, the boy had none of those either.

"If you need anything don't hesitate to ask," he went on, and I didn't bother replying. When I looked up again, he was gone.

Releasing my death-like hold on the manila folder, I carefully opened it to scan the contents.

Ashton Ketchum. Male. Nineteen years old. Born on November twenty-first. Black hair. Brown eyes.

Nothing special.

Oh well, it wasn't like I took this job knowing it would be interesting or anything. This Ashton Ketchum had been asleep for five years and three months. Judging by his lack of response he wouldn't be waking up any time soon. My only job was to monitor and record, so despite the obvious boredom it seemed as though I'd be having it pretty easy.

Whatever, I only needed the extra credit. I'd be out of here three months.

* * *

It's been a month since I started at Fuchsia City's Mental Hospital.

Ashton Ketchum, or Ash as I'd shortened it to privately, has yet to open his eyes. Or make any sort of sign at all, actually. I've had nothing to report thus far, but Brock said I'd been handling it well and kept on giving the school good feedback, so I wasn't about to complain. My sisters aren't thrilled about the development as it took time away from me helping out with their shows, especially as they gained nothing from it. It's not like volunteer work paid.

But they weren't displeased just because of that. Their shows were what kept what was left of our family running, and we needed all of the help we could get.

That didn't mean I had learned to enjoy being here any more than originally.

There were still no cards or gifts concerned for Ash's state of being. His room remained as empty and blank as ever, the only activity coming from the monitor. Currently, I was beginning to think that it showed more signs of life than the patient did.

It wasn't long before I would be out of here. Two more months, then everything could go back to the way it was.

At least most of the staff were friendly and I was able to bring in proper food. The gruel served in that cafeteria should be against any and all codes of ethics. Aren't there health regulations? Strange, considering hospitals are supposed to be designed to cater for their patients welfare.

* * *

Today Ash Ketchum awoke for the first time in five years, four months, two weeks, and three days.

It was a miracle, really, and the only time I had seen the hospital so alive and buzzing with excitement. It died down quickly, though. Turns out Ash did have one family member. A woman named Delia Ketchum, Ash's mother, I'd found out, came to visit with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

She left more heartbroken that she came.

Ash, albeit opening his eyes, remained motionless. He didn't respond to her voice, her presence, her touch. It wasn't hard to feel sorry for the woman. I couldn't even begin to imagine the emotional torment over nearly losing a child, knowing that at any given moment he could just stop functioning, and then finally hearing the news you'd been waiting five years for only to discover that he didn't even know you.

Delia left nothing behind but a cluster of pained hearts, although none could possibly have been more strained than her own. While she'd been here I hadn't been allowed in. Something to do with authorized personnel and it not being an event somebody like me needed to witness. Once the commotion died down, Brock allowed me to enter the room, though.

And for the first time in the entire month and a half I'd been here, been watching him, I was finally able to gaze at Ash Ketchum for real.

It wasn't what I had expected.

Ash was there, sure, but... he wasn't. Alive but dead is the only way I could explain it. His eyes were nothing like I'd ever seen before. And I didn't mean that in a good way. Both a beautiful chocolate brown, wide open and unblinking, held no emotion whatsoever. Vacant. Shallow. Lifeless. There was no indication that Ash was even aware of my presence.

Ash Ketchum was right in front of me, yet he was so far away.

* * *

Brock advised me that it might be a good idea to start talking to him.

I had no idea what good it would do. Ash had been awake for an entire week now, and he had yet to make any hint that he was present. A stupid idea, in my opinion. But sitting in that same chair for over a month got boring and lonely, and it wasn't like anybody was around to hear me, anyway. He certainly wouldn't.

And so, speak I did.

I told Ash of his situation, how long he'd been here and what had been going on. Somewhere along the line it switched to me. I spoke of my sisters, my home, what our life had been like ever since our parents perished in a fire seven years ago. My favourite colour. That I'd escape this place, this town, the moment a chance came my way. I asked him what it was like being in a coma and if he could hear me.

It felt foolish, at first, but as I went on it all just spilled out naturally before I could stop it. Maybe it was him, or maybe it was because he couldn't tell me how ridiculous I was being. For some reason I felt at ease being there beside him, letting out my inner fears and secrets, things I hadn't spoken about in God knows how long. Perhaps I felt as though we could relate on some level. Delia hadn't been again since he woke up.

But Ash didn't stir. There was no reaction at all, and on some level I was glad.

I didn't want to be told what an idiot I was being.

He continued to lie in his allocated bed, eyes still fixated on the chipped paint in the ceiling.

I went home that night feeling strangely calm, almost like a weight had been lifted. Could he hear me? Did he understand? Shaking my head, I snapped out of those thoughts almost as soon as they had come. It didn't matter. Ash Ketchum wasn't a part of my life. I'd be gone in another month and a bit, and he'd probably still be lying there for a long, long time after that.

* * *

At last exactly two months and six days since I began volunteering at the hospital, Ash spoke.

Brock could barely believe it when he heard the news. Unfortunately, it wasn't a happy scene. Not in the slightest. Because Ash Ketchum hadn't exactly formed words as much as screamed. His eyes locked on my own about halfway through the day, staring at me for what seemed like years with a distant gaze. It was uncomfortable. I resisted the urge to squirm, to move away, and knew it was useless to tell him to stop.

My red hair and freckles had always been something I was incredibly self-conscious of.

But that was when things took a complete one-eighty and his previously alienated features morphed into ones of horror. He opened his mouth, and then he had screamed. It didn't take long for the nurses to barge in and begin pointing fingers, blaming me for harassing the patient and shoving me out of the room. Through the window outlines of a now rather animated Ash could be seen, thrashing and flailing about while the nurses did their best to hold him down. The sheets had long since been kicked away. Brock had rushed over as fast as possible, demanding an explanation and becoming rather irritated at the nurse's behaviour.

I had never seen him annoyed before.

They were just doing their jobs, though, and I was the only other person in the room at the time. I didn't blame them for assuming the worst. Besides, it wasn't as though I was really qualified or anything. I decided that it was probably best to leave after that. Brock spent an entire hour searching for me before giving up.

For the duration of that night, I couldn't stop hearing Ash's screams.

* * *

It was another five days before I was permitted to enter the room again.

Brock put in some words, played his cards, but they still weren't overly pleased about the development. Oh well. It wasn't like I'd intentionally caused Ash harm. Sure, I was a generally violent person when somebody pissed me off, but at the hospital I kept a relatively indifferent composure. I was no threat to Ash. I wasn't scared of him, either. He had spent half a decade without any human contact. Waking up to a strange girl less than two metres away would have probably been enough to freak anyone out.

So, thanks to Brock's influence, I sat in my usual seat beside his bed and waited for something to happen.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, I couldn't tell which one, Ash made no move to acknowledge me. He continued to do what he'd been doing for the whole three months I'd been here. Today was my last day. Brock came up to me at the end and thanked me for my service, saying that he'd ensured that I'd been given enough credit to pass the year. He apologized about what happened, assuring me with kind words that none of it had been my fault.

"It's fine," I told him, picking up my bag and preparing to walk out. "Thank you for everything. I hope it turns out okay."

Brock smiled. "Me too, Misty. Me too."

With that, I turned away and walked through the doors leading to the hospital for what was meant to be the last time.

I didn't know whether I was disappointed or relieved.

* * *

I don't know why, but something pulled me right back the following day.

The hours were done. Professor Oak had filed the credit over to my grades. There was no reason to come back.

But I did, and Brock's face lit up the moment I stepped into the lobby. So, going along with what had become routine and habit over the past three months, I sat in the chair beside Ash's bed and waited for him to do something. It was unexpected, both terrifying and sending adrenaline through my body all at once, but at last he said something.

"What's your name?" His voice was crackly and dry from not being used in so long, but it was still there.

I froze. Ash was looking right at me, and everything seemed to just melt away under his gaze. His eyes were still mostly empty, but there was something there that hadn't been present before. It took a while for me to choke out a response, but Ash didn't seem to be in any particular hurry.

"I'm Misty Waterflower," I finally managed to answer, noting the way he seemed both relieved and pained at the news.

Hearing it must have made him uncomfortable or something, because there was no mistaking the cringe. But after a few moments his expression softened, lips curling into a faint smile.

Ash nodded slowly. "I thought so. You're not easy to forget."

We didn't speak again, and for the rest of the day his words kept spinning around in my head. Try as I might, there was absolutely no figuring out what he meant.

I didn't tell Brock that he could speak.

* * *

Apparently, security had been doing their job for once and got footage of our conversation. I was glad to find that the tapes didn't include sound. Brock had been overjoyed, and, albeit the nurses reluctance, sent me in with a small variety of activities. It proved that I was the opposite of detrimental to Ash's health. They hadn't liked being wrong.

I laid them across the bedside table (Delia still hadn't returned, despite Brock's best efforts), and watched as Ash curiously eyed the new objects. He didn't reach out for any of them, merely focusing his attention on me once more. I didn't need to be asked for an explanation.

"They think it will be good for you to do something other than lay there," I told him bluntly.

Ash raised an eyebrow, something I'd become used to seeing him do.

"Pick whatever you want. You don't have to do anything if you don't feel like it," I elaborated after he didn't look away from me.

Ash slowly turned back to the assortment of activities, taking his time before setting his focus on the small stack of paper and crayons. I would have rather done the puzzle, but this wasn't about me. I plucked a sheet and handed it over to him along with a bunch of crayons, observing amusedly as Ash stared at them for a good minute before hesitantly reaching out to grab one.

They seemed foreign in his hold, and the lines he created were rough and wonky at first, but soon enough he seemed to get a proper handle on the art and I went about making my own picture. In the middle of drawing a pond, I looked up and noticed the large bags under his eyes.

How did I not see them before?

"You should really sleep more," I told him, and Ash halted his colouring to look up at me.

"That's what they tell me, too."

"Then why don't you?"

He didn't answer straight away, choosing to put down the orange crayon and pick up a yellow one in its place. It was a long time before he finally responded with, "Because waking up means that I lose it all over again. It hurts too much."

I had no idea what he meant by that.

A few seconds later, he pushed his paper to the edge of the bed for me to see. I was puzzled at first, not having any clue as to what the strange creatures depicted to the left with what seemed like electricity and water around them. Either he had a really vivid imagination, or there was something not quite right wish Ash's head.

When I asked him about them, he smiled fondly and glanced over at the wall. "Pokemon," he answered, and I was unsure how to react. Ash didn't elaborate. The next time I looked at the picture I caught sight of three figures in the bottom right.

One seemed to look a lot like Brock. Another was wearing blue jeans and a vest, a red and white cap placed backwards on his head. It wasn't the pale gown he was dressed in now, but I figured that to be Ash. Next to him, though, was another person with orange hair and bright, cerulean eyes.

Was that me?

I didn't ask. We didn't talk for the rest of the time, and the moment it hit five o'clock I packed up the items and walked out without speaking to Brock, wondering whether or not I should really come back tomorrow.

At least I didn't have to document things anymore.

* * *

Needless to say, I found myself by Ash's side the following day.

He was asleep when I walked in. That in itself was surprising, considering what he'd mentioned the previous day. A nurse came in at one point to change the bag connected to the tubes in his arm, and I finally found out the reason behind Ash's confinement here. Delia and himself lived in a remote village just slightly South West of Fuschia City, and up until he was ten Ash had never left. Mr. Ketchum wasn't a part of their lives. One day, Ash saw a commercial on TV about a zoo in this very city. He had always loved animals, apparently. Initially, Delia refused, but eventually she gave in.

The accident happened on the outskirts of Viridian.

Having no car or means of transportation that far out, Delia and Ash planned to walk to Viridian City and catch multiple buses from there. That never happened, though, because the two were caught in a landslide and unable to escape. Help didn't come for another three days, and by that time it was all Delia could do to keep her head up. Ash was knocked unconscious instantly. It was pure luck that there were people in the area, really, as the paths connected back towns rarely got used anymore.

I learned that the man who arrived was Professor Oak, whose laboratory was based in Pallet Town.

That explained a lot. As she left, the nurse told me that interacting with coma patients wasn't always a positive thing. So far, Ash had only responded so prominently to myself, and if I was to suddenly go away it might trigger negative consequences. What was that supposed to mean? I didn't even know why I continued visiting, myself, but for some reason I just returned each time.

Ash's face was peaceful. You couldn't tell that he had bags or probably my entire school's worth of trauma. He looked... happy? I sighed, knowing that this visit was going to be a boring one.

I didn't have the heart to wake him up.

* * *

Brock asked me about the picture. I had no idea what to tell him, mostly because I didn't know what it meant.

And so, I asked Ash.

His eyes lit up with a fire that shocked me at first, and although a little scared, I said nothing as he recounted his tale.

It was one of adventure, action, and friendship. Those 'pokemon' he'd spoken so fondly of were apparently little creatures with different abilities depending on their 'type'. Ash explained that a 'type' was one of eighteen, and every child was able to go on an adventure around the regions with their own pokemon once reaching the age of ten. They were given a 'starter', he had called it, which was either a water, fire, or grass type. They were the animals of his world, I concluded.

There were different Professors for each region. Professor Oak was the one for Kanto.

Ash told of his two best friends, who, for some weird reason, shared the names of Brock and myself. He met me through a series of events involving a stolen bike and a flock of what he called 'spearow'. Together, we saved the Viridian Pokemon Centre and began travelling as a pair because he'd taken my bike to rescue his pikachu and I wouldn't leave him alone until he paid me back. Brock was what Ash called a 'Gym Leader', and took care of several siblings. His father came home out of the blue and Brock decided to join us to have his first experience away from Pewter City.

Pikachu was the fuzzy, little yellow creature in his picture with electricity surrounding it.

The entire time he was speaking, Ash was elated.

Heck, even I was engrossed in his words. It was better than anything I'd ever read, that was for sure. Must have been some exciting five years. I realized that this was the most at ease I'd ever seen Ash, and that yesterday he must have been dreaming about his world.

* * *

Today I'd walked into the hospital keen on hearing more about this pokemon world, but that didn't quite go according to plan. There was a loud commotion that continued rising in volume the closer I got, and upon arriving got a full view of three nurses attempted to hold down a thrashing Ash. He was barely coherent, and to anybody else it would have seemed like he was talking gibberish, but I definitely caught on to words like 'Pikachu' and 'Team Rocket' and 'Thunderbolt'.

I couldn't see very well, but there were definitely tears in Ash's eyes.

His eyes held a crazed, nearly desperate look, and for a moment I felt sorry for him. Who knew? Maybe Ash Ketchum really was insane.

When the nurses finally managed to calm him down, Ash was breathing heavily and staring at the wall with a blank expression. They told me to leave and come back tomorrow. But I wanted to make sure he was alright, so I snuck in anyway and closed the door for precaution.

Ash didn't speak. I doubted he even knew I was there.

Physically, he was here. But his mind was somewhere beyond reaching. Ash slowly turned his head to look over at the bedside table, plucking a piece of paper with a strange drawing of a sphere coloured in red and white. He stared at it for a few moments before holding at at arms length, making a throwing motion but never actually letting go.

"Pikachu, go," Ash muttered, waving the picture around. When nothing happened, he frowned slightly. "Pikachu, go," he said louder.

His expression became increasingly frustrated, and Ash continued to make throwing motions faster and louder. "Pikachu, go!"

Eventually, a look of horror overcame Ash's face. He made another throwing motion, this time letting the paper fly through the air and land at the end of the bed. Pikachu still didn't appear. Ash clenched his fists, hanging his head low and began making sobbing noises. Soon enough the tears began to flow.

I left quickly, knowing that it wouldn't be good for me to get caught. Ash crying wasn't a sight I wanted to see.

* * *

I returned the next day eager to make up for the time lost. Ash smiled brightly when I asked him to continue his story.

He instantly dived right into it, rushing out many adventures through Kanto, Johto, and the Orange Islands. Those places were real, at least, but I'd never been to them. Then he reached the part when him, Misty (it felt weird talking about someone who was me, but wasn't actually), and Brock were trying to save the pokemon from a rogue one known as mewtwo. I asked if they succeeded, and his entire demeanor only dropped.

Ash had jumped in between both mewtwo and mew who had simultaneously shot some sort of psychic, deathly beam at each other. Misty and Brock were off to the side somewhere, only able to watch as he threw himself into the fray and take the hit for them.

I asked whether or not he was able to save them and if his efforts were worth it.

He said that the moment the rays struck was the exact moment he had woken up. Although he'd successfully prevented those he cared about from getting hurt, Ash had instead been pulled back into a world were they didn't exist. Ash loved pokemon. He loved his friends. But I knew that deep down, if he had to make the decision again, he wouldn't have taken that hit.

Because the pain of not being able to make it in time of those blasts was nothing compared to that of a reality in which none of it was even possible. That was the true torture.

* * *

Ash asked me about my family.

I told him that I'd been living with my sisters since I was a baby, that the only thing I had left of our parents was a photograph kept untouched on a shelf in my room.

He seemed slightly relieved at that.

"You must really resent them for keeping you so confined, huh?" Ash asked.

"No, I love my sisters," I told him, confusion rising higher in every word. "They're very supportive and do everything they can to help me. The only reason they were so against me coming here was because of the added strain."

Ash didn't speak a word after that. We sat in silence, him frowning with his eyes scrunched shut as if trying to figure something out. During that time I wondered what he could have possibly meant. That was when I remembered about how he had spoken of the snobby, self-centred brats that I had run away from in his world.

I hadn't understood him back then.

But that was the moment I began to see how parallel this world was compared to Ash's.

And as I was linking more and more pieces together, Ash continued to fight an internal war. I think he's finally starting to realize that his life, the world he'd been living in for five years, was nothing more than a figment of his own imagination. It wasn't here.

* * *

Professor Oak's grandson, Gary Oak, came in today. We share the majority of our classes together, and apparently he wanted to see for himself what was keeping me so occupied.

But later on I learned that Gary and Ash had grown up together until the accident. Afterwards, Gary followed Professor Oak to Fuschia because he couldn't stay there any longer. Then Professor Oak had mentioned Ash's recovery and that I'd been visiting, and Gary decided he'd been putting off coming to see Ash for himself for too long.

It was awkward at first.

Gary was a statue of nostalgia and hesitation, looking unsure of how to feel. On the one hand, Ash was alive. On the other, he had no recollection of Gary. At least not in this world.

Ash had smiled brightly, obviously throwing Gary off but not enough to send him running straight out of the door. He slowly approached the bed, standing next to me as there were no other chairs available. Ash stared at Gary for mere seconds after that before bursting out asking how his pokemon back at the lab were doing, and whether or not Gary given up on becoming a Pokemon Researcher in favor of rejoining Trainers.

It was clear by the look he sent towards me that Gary had no idea what Ash was on about.

He didn't know him like I did.

After all, I'd been here for seven months. All of Ash's Pokeverse talk, as I'd come to call it, was normal now. Nothing about it was strange anymore. Slowly, Ash had begun realizing that there was no possible way for those little creatures to exist in this world.

But seeing Gary again had triggered something inside of him. Some memory, distant hope, something that told him all of this was a lie and that he'd be back with his 'real' friends any minute. Gary didn't know what to say. He stood there in silence for several minutes, watching pitifully as Ash's hope ebbed away bit by bit.

"I'm sorry, Ash," Gary said at last, shaking his head sadly and turning to walk out the door.

Ash cried that afternoon. I didn't have the heart to leave him alone this time, but he didn't seem to have noticed that. In the midst of desperately trying to keep the tears in, he turned to me with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Please... Just this once, let me hold you. Please, Misty," Ash begged, and I wasn't able to refuse.

His arms shakily and awkwardly wrapped around me, but the moment they closed I knew it was going to be a long time before he let go. Just in the single gesture, all of Ash's pent up emotions poured out: Sadness. Fear. Confusion. Hurt. Longing. That was when I knew that Ash needed somebody familiar, something to keep him from spiraling out of control completely. But I wasn't what really he wanted.

And for the first time in seven months, I wished that I could be his Misty.

* * *

"Hey, Mist?" Ash asked, and I looked up from the TV.

He'd taken to calling me that, something he said was an old habit and hard to fall out of. It wasn't harmful, and it seemed to make him happy, so I didn't complain. Although, it did feel strange that the nickname was mine and yet didn't belong to me in the slightest.

"Yeah?"

"What if this is just a coma?" Ash questioned, and I gave him a quizzical look. "Like, if I really just went into a coma in my world and this one is just part of my imagination."

I didn't answer. A part of me wanted it to be true. But I'd never been one for comfort, especially when it came to reassuring others, and sugar-coating just wasn't my forte. My world was black and white. I have never known grey.

"Do you think that if I died, I'd wake up back in the real world?" he went on hopefully.

I shook my head. "That's impossible, Ash."

"You never know," Ash muttered. He turned to me, unwavering sorrow present in his eyes. "I want to go home. More than anything. I miss it there."

"Then why don't you? Your mom is waiting," I asked him. In truth, Delia still hadn't set foot in the hospital since the day Ash woke up. She'd been in contact with Brock, though, and albeit not being able to be here she still wanted her baby boy back with her.

Ash visibly dulled. "That isn't where I belong."

If I had known then that those would be our last words, I never would have walked away.

* * *

 _Hey, Mist,_

 _If you're reading this, then I got the answer I was looking for._

 _I'm not sorry for seeing it through. It's not a bad thing. The sky looked beautiful, and letting go was so much easier than I'd imagined. Probably because I knew that it would be worth it. Yesterday I told you that that wasn't where I belonged. Those words woke me up._

 _It won't be long before we'll be together again travelling through new regions with Brock and catching new pokemon. I really want to see Pikachu again, too._

 _You look so much like her, you know, and I think that's what was stopping me for so long. I tried to believe you were here... that Misty was here, but you're not her. I wanted you to be, though. I wanted it more than anything._

 _Thank you for everything._

 _Please don't be sad. I'm finally back home._

 _\- Ash Ketchum_

It's been two years since then, since I was given that note, and I still can't forget the boy with the raven hair. My sisters don't let me help out with shows anymore. They stopped me from going to school, too. Professor Oak can barely look me in the eye. Still, he visits sometimes, but he never enters the room. Maybe he feels bad because he's the reason I came here.

He shouldn't. I met Ash.

Gary comes by a lot more often than my sisters do. Perhaps it's to make up for what his grandfather can't handle, but I don't mind. Gary seems to like the idea of Ash's Pokeverse. He understands it now. He doesn't come to document or monitor my progress. Perhaps he's trying to make up for what he never could with Ash.

None of them let me outside.

I don't know why. I'm not crazy.

Ever since that day, I've dreamt of an amazing world with creatures just like in Ash's stories, ones who control powers and obey their Trainers. Ash is there, too. Pikachu as well. Brock isn't. He's always there when I wake up, asking me questions and bringing me breakfast. It gets annoying at times.

The nurses are much kinder now than they were back when Ash was here. I think they take pity on me. They treat me like a patient.

I'm not like Ash. I know that pokemon don't exist. I'm not delusional. Why are they keeping me here?

When I asked Gary he answered that sometimes when people begin to imagine an alternate world, their views can become twisted and they easily mix the two up. Brock told me the same thing. But I was different. Pokemon weren't real. Ash was. So what if I dreamed of his world? Ash and I aren't the same. It can't be helped that they go hand in hand. I don't want to see his universe if Ash isn't there.

It took a while, but finally understood what Ash meant that day.

Waking up really does hurt too much. He wasn't wrong when he said that you lose it all. In fact, Ash was right about a lot of things. My sisters really were conceited. I absolutely loved water. Gary studied pokemon rather than training them. The Pokeverse was amazing.

He was wrong in one way, though.

Even though waking up shatters you over and over again, I'd rather have to lose everything than never see Ash's smiling, happy face again.

In the end, I guess I did manage to escape this town. Just not in the way I imagined.

 **So it's not exactly Pokeshipping. Close enough.**

 **When I started this and had absolutely no idea it was Pokeshipping Week... between that lack of knowledge and the theme of this, you can totally tell it's my OTP, right? I know the tone and writing style is slightly unusual. The whole story is written from Misty's POV, so the lack of emotion and air of ignorance is a reflection of herself.**


End file.
